


Claim My Love

by titansatemysoul



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: AU set in Eos, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-22 19:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15588849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titansatemysoul/pseuds/titansatemysoul
Summary: After an incident during childhood, Ignis is sent to live in Tenebrae, raised alongside the Oracle's daughter, Lunafreya. Now, over a decade since his exile, he finds himself called back to the home that cast him out so long ago, serving the new King of Lucis, Noctis Lucis Caelum.





	1. Prologue

The floor length windows of Fenestala Manor provide the King of Lucis a panoramic view of the immense stone islets for which Tenebrae is best known, rendering a shadow over all that’s below. The buildings look as though they’ve sprouted from the rocks themselves, magnificent white stone structures rooted between endless shoots of lush, thriving verdure.

“Regis,” Oracle Sylva Via Fleuret stands behind her desk, clenched fists braced on the expertly carved wooden surface. Her blonde hair is free of its usual ornate diadem, framing her face in shadow, her eyes, with their preternatural white blue glow, boring into the back of his skull, will alone compelling Regis to face her. “You must see reason!”

“There’s no proof the daemon came from Niflheim,” his usual benevolence replaced with something dispassionate and melancholy.

“You allow yourself to be blinded by fear, and you’re a fool if you believe that they didn’t have a hand in this. I don’t believe that you are a fool, King of Lucis.”

Sylva’s desk is covered with photographs and reports of the daemon that was set upon Prince Noctis just one month prior. He lifts one, holding delicately at the corners. Blood stains the well tread soil, saturating the ground between the photographs neat, white borders.

“How can you claim to protect your people if you refuse to hold their enemies responsible? How can you protect your son?”

“Do not presume that you have the right to judge the choices I make for my country,” he says sharply. In the distance, a drone of an imperial dirigible echoes, the glow of its engine an ugly spot on an otherwise flawless skyline. “I have never presumed to judge yours.”

“You cannot stop the prophecy,” Sylva persists, snatching the picture from his hands. “Noctis will be the one to defeat the darkness coming for us all. He is Chosen.”

“That damned prophecy,” the King’s features sag, his age setting shallow lines on his forehead, the frown he wears creasing on the edge of his lips. “It’s not only my son that it named. Are you prepared to forsake your own daughter when it comes time for her to die for the _greater good_?”

“If the gods will it, there is nothing I can do intervene. It is ordained, Regis, and I believe in Lunafreya, just as I believe in the future King of Light.”

“He’s not King just yet,” Regis declares. “And I’ll hear no more talk of this until he’s well again.”

-

As it has been since the attack, Regis’ sleep is fitful. He dreams of the heat from burning cars, weighing down on his lungs and flesh, licking at his face with the smoke threatening to swallow him whole, scalding his throat with every breath. The serpent daemon’s cries cut through the roar of the flames as he sends her careening over the cliff face, still screeching as she claws at the air. Properly disturbed, Regis wakes with a jolt, magic crackling at his fingertips just beneath the blankets.

A storm has breached Tenebrae’s borders, raging directly overhead, a flash of lightning so close it leaves a ringing in his ears when it sets down. The electricity glows beneath the trim of the curtains, flickering off the stone floor. Regis is met by the swirling tempest as he ties back the shocks of velvet, battering the glass with sharp pitter patters swept up by the wind and thrown against the manor’s exterior.

The sky lands are barely visible through the torrent, excess rainfall cascading off the colossal protrusions of which Tenebrae is built upon the only indicator that they exist at all. The din sets Regis firmly in the present, fetching cool, fresh water that dilutes the sour taste of dry on his tongue, settling into a tall back chair to watch the unfurling bedlam. His solitude is interrupted by a sharp knock and an urgent voice from the other side of his bedroom door.

The servant has barely addressed him, pushed out of the way as Regis rushes past, towards the make-shift infirmary fashioned out of the manor’s many guest rooms. Noctis’ screams cut through the storm, each a cutting blow that makes his chest ache, puncturing his dwindling composure as he reaches his bedroom. The image of Noctis, crumpled on the ground tests his composure as he enters the room to find blood once again pooling around his son. It seeps into the sheets and blankets which have been thrown to the floor, making room for Sylva, draped in a robe just as he, and hovering over the Prince. There’s been some kind of struggle, still in progress as Noctis thrashes, fighting against all attempts to keep him still.

Ignis watches in horror, held by a nurse knelt beside him. Regis doesn’t notice him at first, not until a frightened whimper in between wails draws his attention to the corner of the room. He too is strewn in blood, pajamas stained beyond salvation. There’s the briefest sign of relief when he sees the King, an unwavering belief that he’ll be able to make it all alright again.

“Take him away,” Regis snaps at his keeper. “Get him back to bed.”

Noctis mumbles something between a fresh onslaught of his tantrum as Ignis is carried out, trying to force his body to allow him upright.

“Don’t let him move!” Slyva exclaims as Noctis wrenches himself from an attendant’s grip, strong little hands peeling his fingers from his shoulders. “Help me!”

She looks frantic as Regis joins her, pinning Noctis onto his stomach to reveal his injury in full. The wound has reopened, some of the stitches around the exterior ripped at the seams and its bandages frayed, threads rubbed free during the fit. The deepest part of the gash spouts from it’s center, irritated and burning with the threat of infection. The Oracle visibly cringes as she places her hands over his mangled back, energy of the Six lighting her hands as they spread over the winding lesions.

“It’s alright, Noct,” Regis pets the back of his hair, damp with sweat and blood. Noctis seems defeated, no longer struggling, only whimpering softly into the pillows, wincing as the magic puts him back together. “You’ll be alright.”

“The physician will need to be called back tomorrow,” Sylva says, wiping her hands on the ruined linens. “I’ve closed the worst of it for now, but I can’t say for sure if he’s caused further damage.”

She moves to stabilize him when Noctis shifts, rolling to look up at his father, acknowledging his presence for the first time.

“Dad?”

“I’m here, Noct,” Regis takes his hand, finding solace in a steady, thrumming pulse rate despite his pallor. “Try and go back to sleep.”

“Dad,” Noctis mumbles again, pain and frustration screwing up his small features as his eyes dart around what little of the room he can see.

“ _Where’s Ignis?_ ”

-

Sylva is drained as she and Regis retreat to her private chambers, beleaguered by lack of sleep and expenditure of strength. Removing the pin holding back he hair, it falls around her neck in a tired heap. Her retinue is close behind, offering them tea and hot towels before disappearing back into the hallway.

“What happened?” Regis asks, rubbing away Noctis’ blood until the skin is scraped raw. Sylva only stares straight ahead, silently sipping her tea.

“Your son is an alpha,” she says finally, hand quivering slightly as she sets her tea cup onto the end table.

“He’s a child,” Regis rebuts her. “That has no significance here.”

“It certainly does now. The boy who was with him, he’s uncommon; an omega, yes? I’d imagine that was quite a scandal.”

“Ignis, yes, but why does it matter?”

Sylva takes a long, breath, setting down her cup, otherworldly sapphirine blue eyes boring into tempestuous gray.

“Because, your son has bonded to him. Despite his condition, despite his immobility – the boy only just took his first steps _last week_ ,” she pauses. “Ignis fell asleep in his bed. When they tried to take him away…well, you saw the aftermath.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Regis insists, standing abruptly and striding to the window, tea cups shaking as his knee hits the table. “He was delirious. They surprised him is all.” Outside, the squall refuses to yield, distant flashes illuminating the murky horizon. The glass is cold to the touch, shuddering against the wind and rain. “That can’t have been the reason, I’m sure of it.”

“But it was. Regardless of whether he was lucid, he reacted like any alpha would in such a state. Whether he’s aware of it or not, your son believes that Ignis is his. This didn’t happen overnight, Regis. You must have noticed _something_ before now.”

“Nothing,” he murmurs. “They’ve been together for years, and there’s been nothing.”

“Maybe, that was enough,” Sylva joins him, the twilight giving her an almost ghostlike appearance.

“It can’t be,” Regis whispers, breath fogging the window pane. “They’re only children. It’s not possible.”

“Apparently it is,” Sylva follows his gaze, lips pressed in a thin line. She tightens her robe against the chill, holding it firm over her breast. “And it _must_ be broken, immediately. Children aren’t supposed to feel their designation this young, and if this continues, it will only get worse. By the time he’s grown you’ll have nothing but a single-minded imbecile, if he’s not already been driven mad completely. And what kind of life can Ignis expect, treated as the possession of a mindless brute? He’ll never bear children of his own – Noctis would keep him locked away waiting for a day that will never come.”

Reality settles like lead, a brief image of Noctis, dead eyed with teeth bared in some gross caricature of the future sending another bout of nausea rolling through the King.

“Ignis has no family,” he tells her. “His parents fled the city the moment they realized what he was. His uncle died in my service before he could even walk.”

“Cowards,” Sylva mutters angrily. “What kind of world breeds such bigotry that abandoning a child is deemed more acceptable than that child’s omegan status itself? He’s a boy, not a runt to be cast aside.”

“All he knows is in Lucis; with Noct.”

A spatter of water startles them both, a torrent blurring their view as a gutter above collapses beneath it’s weight.

“That’s all he’ll ever have if you don’t separate them now,” Sylva says gently. “You must send him away.”

“How can I?” Regis turns on his heel, abandoning the window. “Ignis belongs in the Citadel. He needs education, training. I swore to his kin that he’d be looked after. I refuse to simply _abandon_ him.”

“You’d be protecting him, and Noctis. Leave him here. Tenebrae isn’t like Lucis. He won’t face the discrimination he would among your people. I’ll watch over him myself, provide him everything you wish.”

“Tenebrae is in Imperial territory,” Regis reminds her. “He would never be safe once they learn of a Lucian hand living in its borders. I’ll send him to Accordo. I have a trusted contact in the capital, and he’ll be looked after.”

“And he’ll be raised subordinate to all those around him,” Sylva argues. “Altissians are no better than those in Lucis. They’ve never given omegas their due, male or female, and being a boy…they’ll make an outcast of him. In the service of my daughter no one will ever be the wiser. Let the vitriol cast on his kind work to our advantage. Even if they catch wind of where he comes from, he’ll be nothing but a reject from the arrogant Kingdom of Lucis.”

Outside, the gale begins to wither.

“So Ignis will leave the palace,” Regis assents with resolve he doesn’t possess. “Will he ever return?”

“When Noctis becomes King, I’ll make sure Ignis is ready to take his post. Once the Prince takes your place as protector of the Crystal and realizes his power, nothing will be able to shake his resolve, and they’ll both be ready to face the darkness when it comes.”


	2. Chapter 2

After months of springtime rain, summer hints at its arrival, the sky over Tenebrae clearing for the first time in weeks. The sun coaxes flowers from their buds, warming the foliage throughout the countryside. Ignis shields his eyes from the light reflecting off his bedroom window, watching as the Oracle’s Imperial envoy approaches Fenestala Manor. Beside him, Pryna yawns, peering at him out of a half-closed eye as he falls back onto their sun kissed perch. She circles around, laying her head on his side, until his alarm disrupts them altogether.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, scratching behind her ear before he nudges her off. Still in his night clothes, he sheds the silk robe draped over his shoulders, letting it ripple onto the floor followed by the rest. Sweeping his hair off his forehead, long fingers thread through the knots that collected during his sleep while he picks through his closet. Even weeks after his heat, he’s taxed, the weight lost during still yet to return. Everything hangs a bit looser than it did just a short time before, the waistband of his trousers falling a little lower on his hips, the collar of his shirt drooping around his neck. The soft rose hue of his outfit contrasts the slight pallor that dusts his face, but there’s nothing to be done. His scent seeps through, following him around in a haze of pheromones, sickeningly sweet and thick.

“Get up now, lazy thing,” he beckons to Pyrna, fastening the back of a platinum sylleblossom earring, dangling down the slope of his neck as he begins the descent of the winding steps from his suite. Pyrna runs ahead, the jingle of her collar echoing down the corridors, Ignis left to bring up the rear. Umbra is already in the entry way, waiting patiently at the door, head cocked and tail wagging with anticipation.

As usual, the Imperial guard enters first, creating a perimeter around the foyer. Only when they’re all at their posts is Luna allowed to enter, flanked by four more, two beside and two behind.

“Welcome home, Princess,” Ignis says, side stepping her retinue. They disperse upon his arrival, taking up their own positions down the hallways, the Oracle now in the safe, and more importantly – vigilant hand of her personal chaperone. They see Ignis as an ally rather than enemy, a deliberate scheme on his part, giving him license to arrange Luna’s life as he see fit – within the limitations of his own confinement, of course.

“You’re dismissed,” Ignis shoos them off as he takes her suitcase, putting a protective arm around her shoulders and steering her towards her chambers. The dogs stay on their heels with the best intentions, but underfoot all the same. Once they reach the parlor Luna kneels, cooing and petting while they jump on her knees and kiss her cheeks. Of course, the novelty can only last so long, and eventually, they lose interest, each finding a perch around the suite. Her chambers tell the story of her entire life, remnants of toys and dolls arranged neatly on shelves in one corner, which curve around the room, rungs filled with stacks of books, porcelain antiques and various trinkets gifted to her on her travels around the continent. A photograph of her, Ravus and the Queen sits on the end table between a couch and a chaise in the center of the room, taken by Ignis on her twentieth birthday, in front of it one of just the two, standing outside the manor. Even then, the guards are stationed in the corner of the frame, guns held with watchful eyes at their backs.

Luna hangs her travel coat on its stand, already pulling at the pins and ties in her hair. She sinks onto the couch, one hand on Umbra’s back to steady herself. There’s concern in his gaze as Ignis studies her, dark circles under her eyes, the usual glow of her skin absent.

“Don’t do that,” he says, gently batting the hand crudely yanking at the braid on the side of her head away, carefully dismantling each section instead. “How was Eusciello?”

“It was hot and dry. Or cold and wet. And absolutely nothing in between,” she replies, wincing when he untangles a knot created by her own impatience.

“You smell nice,” Luna says, leaning against him with closed eyes. “I’m sorry I left you alone.”

“It’s alright, I was able to manage on my own.”

“Were you?” Of course Luna knows better. The conflict of his gender and his designation fight for control of his chemistry, and the stress it puts on his body is exponentially worse than his female counterparts. The severity has only increased with age, every cycle leaving him weaker than the last. Compassion is the best he can hope for, which Luna has in spades, refusing to leave his side during the worst of it, until he’s overcome and desire takes hold.

“You still need rest,” she says, putting a hand to his cheek, which still runs warmer than it should. “I’m sorry you can’t have it.”

“No, I can’t, can I? We’re expected in Zoldara, first thing tomorrow.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Ravus doesn’t wait to be permitted inside, shouldering his way in. Shooing away the inquisitive canines who come to greet him, he takes one whiff and he frowns, face screwed up in disgust, were it not for the flush rising from his neck, bright against his stark white hair and military attire. Ignis looks away, pursing his lips and rolling his eyes dismissively.

“Still?” his exasperation muffled by the thick fabric of his jacket collar, pulled over his nose. “This entire room reeks of Lucian stink.”

“Then maybe you should leave,” Luna says sharply, shooting him side glance. “Why are you here?”

“I thought you’d like to know that while you were out catering to the masses, I was promoted to Captain by the Emperor himself,” Ravus declares, puffing out his chest. “The least you can offer is congratulations.”

“Congratulations,” she drawls, sarcasm dripping from a cloying smile. “I’m very proud of you, dear brother. You continue to work up the ranks of those who would wish us ill.”

“A true achievement,” Ignis tacks on, smirking as Ravus’ face twists into contempt.

“Don’t worry,” Luna says brightly, turning away. “I have faith that one day you’ll be on the right side of history.”

Ravus sneers at the both of them, smoothing his uniform as a self-important bird does its feathers, before rounding on Ignis, jabbing a finger in his direction.

“You’re expected at training this week. If mother insists you be taught to fight, you have no business lazing about. And do something to cover up that smell. I won’t have you distracting my soldiers.”

 “Your mother didn’t attend the ceremony,” Ignis says once he’s left and safely out of earshot. “Refused him right to his face from what I understand.”

“I don’t know what he expects. Mother has never supported his ambitions within the military.”

She waves a tired hand, coaxing the dogs to them, folding herself down into Ignis’ lap and welcoming Umbra onto her stomach.

“He’s always been quite single minded,” Ignis says, shifting to accommodate her while Pryna leans on his arm. “But can you fault him for choosing freedom over…”

“This?” Luna finishes. “Hundreds were killed when Niflheim came to Tenebrae. Just because I wasn’t there, doesn’t mean I can forget, or forgive.”

“Of course, Princess,” Ignis brushes her hair back, wisps like silk thread under his fingers. “Forgive me.”

“Are you alright? Ravus is right, you know, you smell.”

“It won’t go away,” Ignis laments. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, you do, you just won’t, not that I blame you.”

“Well neither do you,” Ignis retorts. If Ignis _did_ have a mate, or even a lover, he might find relief, but at the expense of losing his autonomy, no matter how hindered it may be already. Bound by circumstance, it’s a cost higher than he’s willing to pay, and so he suffers.

“But I’m the Oracle,” she replies. “I couldn’t have a mate, even if I wanted one. Besides, my heats are nothing like yours,” then, “There’s always Ravus.”

Luna earns herself a reproachful glare, giggling and jostling Umbra into the corner of the couch.

“Promise you’ll throw me off this godforsaken rock if that ever happens, because I’ll have gone completely mad.”

“Only if I can go with you.”

They languish in their exhaustion, exchanging quiet conversation, wondering about the world as they often do. Thought takes them farther than the Empire ever will, exploring the many aspects of life that are closed off by their captivity.

“One day, you’ll go home to Lucis,” Luna says, wistfully. “And you’ll take me with you, and we’ll never come back.”

“If only I could, Princess. Niflheim will never let you go.”

-

The Oracle is afforded the luxury of an imperial dirigible to ferry them when cars can not, and so the trip to down to the grounds of Zoldara is near instantaneous, lush green plains coming into focus over the edge of the half-open carriage. They’re swiftly herded into the waiting car, whisking them away to the first of many stops on the days agenda.

The rise of daemon activities, and therefore their blight has filled Luna’s schedule to the brim. No village or town has been untouched, the cases increasing in both frequency and severity. Ignis can’t decide if it’s simple irresponsibility on the part of the citizens or if something more sinister is at hand, but mostly, he’s concerned about what the influx is doing to his Princess. He stands in the back of the gathering, fielding phone calls about last-minute logistics and eyeing the guards, shooting them dirty looks every time they get too close to Lunafreya. Though most don’t respect him, they respect Ravus, and know that any news of a wayward alpha who might think too much of himself will be met with decisive action. Nobody pays him much attention unless he’s tending to the Oracle. Occasionally an alpha will notice his scent and stare, either confused or disgusted by what he is, but for the most part he’s left to his own devices, to arrange Luna’s schedule and carry out whatever else she asks of him.

“Come,” Ignis gathers her up the moment she’s finished, supporting her at the waist as he leads them away from the venue. Disciples still hang back, hoping for one last glimpse of the Oracle, and he has to instruct the guards to create a perimeter around them.

“Could you find me something to drink?” Luna asks, once she’s safely in the backseat of the car. “Something cold.”

Casting a cautionary glance towards the guards, Ignis makes his way back to the town. The convenience store is tiny, and the few people inside notice him immediately upon his entry. A woman makes a sound of repulsion, setting her items on the nearest shelf and brushing past him as she exits with a hand over her mouth. He shrugs it off, perusing the refrigerator, trying to ignore the stare boring into his back. An alpha stands just out of sight, peaking around the isle corner, keen on his scent. There’s no alternative to walk by him, so Ignis just looks the other way, holding his breath to avoid the unpleasant stench coming from the stranger.

“Hey,” he reaches out and grabs him as soon as he’s close enough. “I want to talk to you.”

“Excuse me,” Ignis wrenches himself free, pushing the alpha, who knocks into the display, a few cans falling off the shelf and drawing attention to the spectacle. Small towns are always worse in this regard, and the cashier is annoyed by the time Ignis reaches the counter. He turns up the TV, mounted in the corner of the shop next to a sitting area, refusing to look at him as he rings up his items. Just about to leave with a plastic bag in hand, Ignis stops as the screen changes and the name _Lucis_ comes through the speakers.

When he looks up, he’s met with a broadcast, noise cutting in and out due to Imperial interference, but clear enough to make out the scene. King Regis stands on the steps of the Citadel, the anchor speaking over the footage. Then, it zooms in, and Ignis realizes he’s not alone. He almost doesn’t recognize the Prince, jet black hair neatly pulled back, wearing Lucian raiments with mantle set on his shoulders, gold adorning his chest. Noctis steps forward, taking his father’s place, a closed hand over his heart as he bows to the onlookers.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum, King Lucis CXIV addressed Insomnia for the first time since his coronation, speaking to thousands at the Citadel beside his father, King Lucis CXIII. He—”

“Scientia,” a guard has come to find him, a gun hung casually over his arm, glancing up at the TV, expression turning to one of suspicion rather than indifference. “Let’s go.”

Ignis take a final look at the screen before hurrying out of the shop, discreetly slipping a newspaper off the rack as he’s out the door and tucking it in his bag. He’s silent the rest of the way to the manor, but Luna doesn’t seem to mind, drinking quietly before resting against the window until they board the dirigible. The guards escort them inside, and there’s a caretaker waiting for Luna, taking her away for some restorative potions. Pyrna is on his heels as he hurries up to his bedroom, shutting the door and locking it behind him before throwing himself onto his bed and opening the stolen newspaper.

There, in black and white, is Noctis, standing in the grand hall, bent forward as a council member Ignis doesn’t recognize fastens the King’s diadem to his head.

**NOCTIS LUCIS CAELUM CROWNED KING CXIV**

_Thousands gathered to witness the coronation of Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, only son to now King Father, Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII. Lucis was shocked when Caelum Sr. announced his withdrawal late last month, drawing criticism from political analysts and the High Council alike. In his coronation speech, Caelum CXIV offered the country reassurance that he would continue in the direction seen during his father’s tenure and as well as introducing his own –_

Ignis stops reading, returning to the image splashed above the article. It’s finally happened – Noctis is King.

-

“When was the last time you saw him?” Luna asks, picking at the last of her dinner. They’ve shut themselves off to the rest of the manor, taking their meal in the privacy of his bedroom rather than the dining hall. They sit together on the floor, dressed down for the evening, the paper spread out between them.

“It’s not a memory I care to revisit,” Ignis says, turning the page where there’s an article recounting the timeline of Noct’s rise to the crown. He graduated top of his class in secondary school as well as university, spending three years in Altissia until he returned to Lucis the year previous to fill a council seat during the interim between an election. He received a cool reception by both the public and his fellow members, and there was varying criticism about his lack of experience, tagged as self-important, over confident, opinionated and even intolerable. The article cites his kingship to his father’s failing health, though there seems to be speculation that it was Noctis himself who strong armed his father off the throne.

“He’s not what I remember.”

“I haven’t seen him since we met at his coming of age ceremony. The Prince was so quiet then, he wouldn’t even talk to me. It’s hard to imagine him as a King,” Luna takes the paper away, skimming the articles herself. “People change, I suppose. We’re not children anymore.”

“Maybe.”

“I never thought it fair that Mother didn’t let you go,” she goes on, frowning. “You were so close when you first came to us.”

Ignis doesn’t have an answer, so they try to change the subject, opening a bottle of wine, letting music play in the background as they look for anything to distract them from the matter at hand. The question on both their minds lingers in the air, even with the pleasant intoxication that takes hold.

“He’s handsome,” Luna says, rummaging through Ignis’ drawers. She returns with a pair of scissors, cutting into the newspaper around the photograph.

“Am I supposed to keep this?”

“Yes.”

“He _is_ handsome,” Ignis admits, holding the picture taut between his thumb and forefinger. Folding it up, he tucks it into his chest pocket, plopping himself down in front of his vanity, staring at his reflection.

“So are you,” Luna comes up behind him, bending to prop her head on his shoulder. They stay like that for a few minutes, until Luna kisses his cheek, leaning into the crook of his neck. “Do you think you’ll have to go back now?”

“I don’t know, Luna, I don’t know.”

-

There’s a summons from the Queen the moment he wakes the next day, a dull thrum in the back of his head as he dresses and makes his way to her office.

“So, you know.”

“Yes,” Ignis sits before her, hands in his lap, sitting straight and stiff. “Noctis has become the King.”

“You will likely be invited back,” Sylva tells him before he can ask. “Sooner rather than later I’d imagine, although we haven’t heard from anyone in the Lucian government.”

“I understand.”

The notion of a homecoming, for lack of a better word, has become distorted into a distant fantasy, detached from reality. It once served as a pastime, a wish that he’d been told to want when he was young. The idea that it might actually come to pass is disconcerting, the gravity of the impending change weighing heavily on his person.

“I’m grateful for you’re the generosity you’ve always shown me as a guest in your home.”

“Oh, Ignis,” Sylva clicks her teeth, waving him off before taking his hands in hers. “You haven’t been a guest at Fenestala in years. You’re mine, as much as both of my own children.”

“I know,” Ignis says quietly. “I don’t want for anymore than what you’ve given me. Tenebrae has been good to me, more than Lucis ever was.”

“That it has,” Sylva agrees her tone deliberate and reassuring. “And it’s well deserved.” An attendant appears to serve them tea, piping hot steam warming Ignis’ nose as he takes a sip. “Tenebrae is your home. It will always will be, and no matter where you may go, you will always be welcomed back.”

-

It’s business as usual after that. Ignis busies himself with his duties, welcoming the constant distraction. Though the paper has been disposed of, the picture remains, out of sight in the drawer of his nightstand, hidden in a glasses case. His health improves, regaining his color, taking back control of his scent and gaining the weight taken from his cycle. Training goes on as normal, Ravus pushing him harder than anyone else, though he won’t admit it, and Ignis doubling down on his efforts to prove his competence.

Nearly a month has passed since the news of Noct’s ascension, and Ignis is just leaving the training grounds after a particularly grueling session when he finds Luna, waiting just outside the changing area. She’s tense, and won’t say a word when he asks after her, only takes his hand, leading him with an iron grip back towards the manor. The dogs are just outside, jumpy and nervously pacing about in response to their master’s unrest.

Sylva is waiting just outside the entrance hall, pulling Ignis into a tight hug, holding him until she takes his other hand and leading him through the doorway. Guards stand at the ready, flanking a visitor, large in every sense of the word, with a scared face, half of his dark hair swept off his face, tied at the back of his head. He’s dressed in uniform, a fine charcoal jacket with silver clasps the spread over the breadth of his broad chest, his hard stare and scent giving away his alpha designation immediately. It’s then that Ignis sees it, the crest fastened over his heart. He’s Lucian.

“You probably don’t remember me,” the man says awkwardly, his voice rough and deep. “My name is Gladio, I knew you, you know. _Before_.”

“Ignis,” Sylva says slowly. “Gladiolus is Shield to the King of Lucis, and he’s here to take you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a little early because I'll be unavailable this weekend. Sorry for this shitty note, I'm very tired and just want to keep writing this story. I have a break coming up next week and I'm hoping I can take some time!

**Author's Note:**

> I've been a fan of ABO for some time but this is my first time writing it. I'm completely intimidated, but hopefully I do it some justice? I'm in it for the smut, and I'm thinking you probably are too - not to worry, it will be here eventually!
> 
> I can't guarantee my update schedule right now, but I _can_ promise that Chapter 1 will be up this weekend!


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